all that jazz
theme 15: comfortable silence
Living with Reno and Elena, meant that there was no such thing as silence.
However, that didn't mean that Rude could get pretty close.
A blessing and curse in disguise.
… he did not like being the middle man.
Elena's on his left, snuggled up, head resting on his shoulder, locks of strawberry blonde hair, legs leaning on him and pressed against her chest, her hands tugging on his arm, pulling him towards her.
Reno's on his right, slumped, legs outstretched and dangling above the floor. One hand was around Rude's shoulder, possibly only to tickle Elena's ear – and she giggled even as she slept.
The television murmured, Rude's own eyes glazed, as his head began to nod…
The silent Turk was a sandwich. Wrapped in a napkin.
Although he's not sure how it happened, their fluffy yellow mascot decided that its favourite place, on nights like these, was Rude's feet.
He was trapped, unable to move and could not reach out and get the remote.
It's not silence, even as Reno sleep-talked; even as Elena laughed; even as Spuhluka rustled; even as Rude snored.
But that didn't mean that it wasn't comfortable.
In the morning, when they all awaken, slowly realizing from disorientation that they're on the couch, there's a brief interlude of silence.
Bearing in mind that Rude noted it's brief.
Elena blinked slowly. "Reno, your eyes… they're kind of apple green. Huh."
"Hmm, your eyes are kind of big…" Reno responded, still within the world of dream. "… like a kid."
And the bickering started.
"Are not!"
"Are too!"
Sighing mentally, and tickling the still slumbering baby chocobo with a slight nudge of his foot, Rude wondered if they could ever shut up.
Even if he's the middle man, that's not to say that this routine wasn't comfortable.